


Loaded

by furiedheart



Category: Chris Hemsworth - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: College AU, Hiddlesworth, M/M, SO SORRY, Smut, chris has a habit of seeking refuge in Tom's dorm room, title is terrible i know, tom and chris are college students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 17:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2034351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furiedheart/pseuds/furiedheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College au. After a long trip away with the basketball team, Chris goes to Tom for urgent help of an intimate nature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loaded

**Author's Note:**

> I took an hour out of my time working on Half Moons and a Peach Tree to write this one shot because I needed it in my life. It's pretty much all porn; hope you guys don't mind ;-)
> 
> P.S. This college au is completely separate from my other stories. I made Chris a basketball player in this one, too, but only because I have no imagination and I really like imagining him in that uniform. No one judge me.
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely duskyhuedladysatan <3
> 
> UPDATE: This story now has a sequel called "I'll Carry You" for any who are interested :)

Tom adjusted his glasses, squinting at the computer screen before jotting down more notes on the pad before him. This essay was due by midnight and he still had to finish the conclusion and proof it before attaching it to the class webpage for his professor to read. Apart from that, he had an exam in Bio Chem at nine the next morning, and he had yet to filter through his study cards. He glanced at them with a nervous lick of his lips before pulling the laptop close again and pecking away furiously at the keyboard.

He’d skipped dinner to get the bulk of this essay written, and now his stomach growled, interrupting his thoughts.

“Shit.” He reread the sentence and tried to remember where he was going with that line. A burst of voices sounded down the hall, and he figured it was some students stumbling back to the dorms from some party. He deleted the entire sentence and started over, running a finger down his notes to cross-reference his source.

Even though his former roommate had transferred to the community college mid-semester, the university still hadn’t assigned someone new to Tom’s room. One half of it was bare white walls, the twin bed empty of sheets and blankets, unlike Tom’s side of the room, which held interstellar satellite snapshots, one of the many moons of Jupiter, and one rather small poster of the soliloquy from the third act of Hamlet, his only favorite piece of literature. He preferred non-fiction to all the conjecture of drama.

The exposed mattress of the extra bed held some of Tom’s own things, textbooks he flung there after a long day in classes, spare ear buds and that computer charger that had died on him unexpectedly; dirty clothes, noodle cups, a hairbrush he often tried to use but didn’t do him much good. As soon as he heard word from the resident assistant that he was getting a new roommate, Tom would clean up and put his things where they belonged. But he secretly hoped the other half of the room remained unoccupied.

He was tapping away at the keyboard, finally struck with enough inspiration to finish the current paragraph, when the door burst open behind him. Tom jumped, knocking over his Bio Chem study cards.

“What the fuck?” he said, turning to see who had stormed in. He always locked his door, but the damn handle was loose and sometimes wouldn’t hold.

When he saw who it was, his mouth went dry and he hurriedly pushed his glasses up his nose. Chris Hemsworth walked in, shutting the door behind him in a hurry.

The boy was his age—just past nineteen—and all smiles. But their nearly equal height was where all similarities ended. Tom was a wisp compared to Chris’s thicker frame, arms and legs bound with lean muscles that jumped and flexed with the smallest movements, always catching Tom’s eye. Where Tom’s blond hair was curly, Chris liked to keep his straight hair long and pulled back in a ponytail. Tom was sure his coach had a thing to say about Chris playing basketball like that, but Tom like to imagine how lovely the flyaways probably looked swinging around his face. Either way, Chris would do what he wanted.

“Hiddleston,” Chris said, shoving a key ring into his pants pocket.

Oh, maybe that’s how he got in.

One night, after seeing Chris nodding off on the floor of their hallway just after school started, book in hand, pencil rolled away unnoticed, Tom had given Chris a spare key to his dorm room, offering him a quiet place to stay if his teammates, who were also his roommates, ever got too rowdy down the hall. It was the first time Tom had ever seen Chris blush, mumbling his thank you before bolting down the stairs, key clutched in hand.

They’d spoken briefly a few times since then, running into each other at the front lobby doors, both late to some event or other, or at the café on the corner, Chris scarfing down a blueberry scone—his favorite, by God—Tom sipping a coffee to stay awake. That was how Tom found out he was on the basketball team and how Chris found out Tom was the president of the Science Adventures in Space club.

He’d taken Tom up on his offer more than once, slinking in through the door in the dead of night, half asleep and dragging a blanket and pillow like chains at his feet, like some kind of ghost from some kind of carol. Down the hall, Tom could hear the pounding bass of an obscure song, laughter bubbling up before dying away when Chris shut the door behind him. Because Tom’s things were thrown haphazardly over the spare bed, Chris had sidled over to Tom’s twin and shoved him over to the wall, crashing down next to him with a quiet huff.

Tom hadn’t known what to do the first time it happened. Springing up in bed, eyes blurry without his glasses, his heart thudded painfully at the sight of the tall body shuffling over. But then Chris’s voice whispered over to him, deep and drowsy, something Tom would always liken to the way sound echoed in that mountain cavern he’d visited during his senior year of high school.

“I texted you. You didn’t respond.”

Tom had calmed down after that, knowing that he wasn’t about to be murdered, and let Chris elbow him over. Settling down, heart in his throat, Tom had wondered if Chris could hear it, his heart. But Chris, fluffing his pillow impatiently, had simply hunkered down next to him, forehead on Tom’s arm, and promptly fell asleep.

Swallowing past his panic, Tom had turned to face the wall, not wanting to wake up to Chris witnessing his embarrassment. Still, he’d felt when Chris tossed an arm over him, sighing, still asleep. He wasn’t sure what they would say to each other in the morning, the avoided glances, the throat clearings, the hasty goodbye, but Tom needn’t have worried, because come dawn Chris was gone from his side, the flat imprint of his body on the bed the only evidence Tom had that he’d been real.

It had happened again and again, and Tom wasn’t complaining. He didn’t complain when one night, he’d woken up to Chris mumbling something into the pillow, face flushed with heat. He didn’t complain when Chris leaned over and kissed him, tongue bullying past Tom’s lips, hands roaming over his body to hold his wrists flat to the bed. He didn’t complain when another time, Chris muscled his legs apart and started rutting between them, the muscles of his thighs silencing Tom, his gasps and moans swallowed by Chris’s waiting mouth. When they’d come, it was with Chris’s hand over Tom’s mouth and a bite mark on his neck.

Tom didn’t complain when, after dry humping for a half hour, they lay wound tight and feverish, Chris asked if he had anything. Confused at first, Tom had sputtered, but then realization dawned on him.

“Bottom drawer. Vaseline. I don’t have condoms.”

Chris darted away and then was back, draped over Tom again, whose legs opened in welcome.

“You clean?”

Tom nodded. How to tell someone that he’d never slept around, only fingered himself, mouth stuffed with pillow?

Chris nodded, too, hand slipping on the Vaseline lid. “Coach requires we get tested. I’m clean, too.”

And so with only a slick of petroleum jelly and three quick finger pumps, Chris was pushing in and Tom was arching up, because big, so big. He cried out softly when Chris drew back and dug in again. Clamping a hand over his mouth, Chris shushed him gently.

“You feel so fucking good, Tom. Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Through teary eyes, Tom had softened at that, hands lifting to grip at Chris’s waist, feeling pressed flat and swollen full all at once. His moans were muffled behind that wide hand, but Tom felt his blood sing at the feel of the boy above him, breaths warming his neck, powerful hips thrusting into him.

“Tom,” Chris liked to groan, over and over, eyes squeezed tight, jaw clenched, the object of Tom’s obsession for days after. He had such a lovely jaw. It was really the only time he said Tom’s first name. All other times it was just ‘Hiddleston’.

They liked to lie awake, after, half dozing from fatigue and the rush of orgasm, Tom’s fingers curling lazily in Chris’s hair. Chris had the endearing habit of touching Tom’s face, cupping his cheeks, whispering his name. Tom wondered if his teammates ever questioned where Chris went, why he was never in his bunk, if maybe that scrawny kid with the glasses at the end of the hall knew something, the one with the armful of books and science magazines rolled into his back pocket.

But he never asked, and Chris never said.

He just continued to steal into Tom’s room, even when there wasn’t any loud music or drunken laughter down the hall; even when it was dead quiet, all lights shut off, students catnapping over open textbooks and half-assed thesis statements.

Only this time, bending to pick up his scattered notecards, Tom could definitely hear booming voices and shouted greetings and knew Chris was trying to escape all that.

“Studying?” Chris asked, still standing by the door.

Tom ran a hand over his face, exhausted. “Yeah. You just get back?”

Chris had told him about the weekend away with the team. Their schedule required they travel during the semester to rival universities, play their games, and then come back, usually after three or four days. Tom wasn’t sure how Chris handled his schoolwork and athletics, but he must be a whiz or had some trick up his sleeve, because he knew Chris was pulling top marks. Tom frowned, wondering if Chris had someone else on the side doing his work for him. Some other nerd. Some other boy.

“Tom?”

Tom blinked and looked up at Chris. “Hmm?”

“I said, we just got back. We swept them, all three schools.”

Tom smiled. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

Chris nodded and then clapped his hands together, looking around a little nervously. He took a quick step in Tom’s direction.

“Listen. I need you.”

Fighting back a yawn, Tom lifted his glasses away and rubbed at his eyes. “Need me? For wh—?”

“I need to fuck you. Please.”

Tom snapped his head up, glasses falling back in place. Now? He shook his head and turned back to his schoolwork. “I can’t. I have a million things to do—.”

Chris hurried to his side. “I know. But please. I just got back. And it’s been four… _days_.”

Tom brushed him aside. “I _have_ to complete this. It’s due tonight and my test tomorrow might just—.”

Chris knelt by his chair. “Look, I know we only…do that…at night. But…I’m desperate, man. My balls are so fucking full. I really need to blow my load. And there’s like six guys starting up the Xbox in my dorm and—please, I need to come so bad.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to type up my paper too. It’s due in an hour. Please. Please. I can’t stand it.” He glanced around the room. “You want me to jerk off, instead? I can do that. Where should I stand?”

Tom certainly didn’t want that. All that perfectly good cum going to waste. He sighed, secretly harboring the thrill that zapped up his spine at hearing Chris so desperate for it. Maybe he really didn’t have another boy on the side. Chris would have disappeared in a heartbeat if he could get it somewhere else.

“Fine. Alright, but I need to get back—.”

Chris grinned and yanked him out of his seat. He took the battered wooden chair, scuffed and rickety from previous occupants, and jammed it under the doorknob. He turned back to Tom, unbuckling his pants, and Tom gulped, hands shaking at the idea that he would actually see Chris in full light with his glasses on.

“What are you shaking for?” Chris asked, laughing. “I’ve touched every single inch of you.” He took Tom’s face and kissed him fast, hard. And then he spun him, Tom catching himself on the edge of the desk.

As much as Tom loved having Chris between his legs, their lips hovering, those big hands framing his face, Chris looking at Tom like he couldn’t believe he was quite real, Tom positively pined for when Chris took him from behind. There was something animalistic in the way Chris displayed his attraction to Tom in that position. Pulling his hair, biting his shoulder, growling in his ear, fingers bruising into hipbones. Sometimes they were standing, Chris rising to his feet in the dark and hauling Tom to the edge of the bed, pushing him face down; other times Chris would slip into him in the middle of the night, spooning, Tom’s hands braced on the wall, feeling both crushed and worshipped by Chris behind him.

Chris took his hips and rubbed himself against Tom’s ass, groaning.

“Fuck, I missed you. Thought of you the whole damn time.”

“You should have been studying,” Tom said, nearly breathless, as Chris tugged his shorts down.

“Who says I didn’t? That’s all I do, is study. Write my papers. Read my chapters. Annotate shit left and right. Bumping along in that foul bus. Anything to keep my mind off you. The way you smell,” he whispered, trailing his nose along nape of Tom’s neck. “The way you clutch at me at night. I missed being wrapped up in you, instead of sharing a bed with a teammate, pillows stuffed between us so neither of us gets the wrong idea.”

He grabbed blindly at the bottle of Vaseline—Tom would need to remember to buy more; but not condoms because they never ended up using those, liking the feel of bare skin too much—and scooped two fingers into it. He slicked himself up and then smoothed the slimy gunk over Tom’s hole. Tom squirmed. It had been four days for him, too, and he knew he was tight without Chris’s usual attention.

But Chris was frantic this time, and sloppier in his rush.

“Sure you don’t want to study while I fuck you?” Chris said, smiling. The teasing bastard.

Tom rolled his eyes, grimacing when Chris shoved in a finger. “That’s stupid—ah!” Another finger slid in, and he grunted, trying to keep quiet. A handful of fast pumps and then Chris was pushing inside, the full thick head of his cock painful in his still-tight hole. Tom’s heart rate doubled, bracing himself as he flinched. He bit his lip, wincing and breathless, widening his legs to aid in the stretch.

Chris groaned as he sank in, gripping his hips tightly, bruised now for sure.

“Oh, yes,” he breathed. “This is what I needed.”

He thrust hard and Tom gasped, lurching forward on his desk, glasses falling down his nose. He pushed them back up and then quickly hit the save button for his essay, not wanting to lose it following a hard shove by Chris. Tom knew he could get a little rough.

With a hand in Tom’s hair and the other under his shirt at his waist, Chris set a furious pace, teeth clenched. The desk rocked beneath them, knocking into the wall, and Tom was grateful it was the wall that faced the street. He didn’t know what he would say if a neighbor should look at him funny after hearing such noises coming from his room.

Pencils and pens rattled in their case, his notecards strewn once more on the floor, the lid of his laptop vibrating with every thrust.

“Fuck,” Chris groaned. “You’re so fucking tight, Tom. You didn’t sleep around on me?”

Tom blushed red, glad Chris couldn’t see him. “No!” he gasped, fingers tightening on the edge of his desk.

“Good. Me either. Don’t like that. Not a bit.” He groaned and slammed in hard, pulling Tom’s hair, making him arch deep. Tom could swear he felt Chris’s cock swell bigger, a solid pulse, and then Chris was sinking his teeth into Tom’s shoulder, coming with a muted shout. He shuddered as his balls emptied, finally, crushing Tom on top of his books and papers.            

There was so much of it; he could feel it, coating him, hot and gushing. Tom held still, panting, his own erection pressed painfully to the desk, letting Chris finish.

And he thought vaguely of knotting and how dogs stayed stuck together until the swelling died down, only after the alpha had come a dozen more times, filling up the bitch with load after load of its seed. He wished he and Chris could stay locked together, gasping between orgasms, short of breath and sweating, until the urge hit Chris again and he was rutting hard once more, releasing another thick load. Tom would take it all. He wouldn’t complain.

After another long minute of small thrusting, Chris released his shoulder and sighed, his fingers loosening on Tom’s skin. He pulled out, soothing the small of his back gently when Tom whimpered. He tried to keep his cheeks clenched, not wanting a drop to spill.

“Baby,” Chris murmured, forehead dragging along his shoulder blade, and Tom’s heart lifted at the word, never having heard Chris say that before. “Thank you. Thank you. That was…just what I needed.”

He turned Tom over and grabbed his face, crashing their mouths together. And then he dropped to his knees, taking Tom into his mouth in one motion, sucking hard only five times before Tom was spilling, arms shaking behind him, hips jutting forward.

Chris wiped his mouth and stood, that wide smile making Tom dizzy. Or maybe it was the orgasm. Chris kissed him again, touching his hair, saying his name. How Tom loved when he said his name.

“I have just enough time to shower before my deadline,” Chris said, the hard edge of his voice gone now that he’d finally climaxed.

“Uh, yeah. Me too,” Tom said, fixing his shorts and straightening his glasses.

Chris walked to the door, but stopped before removing the chair.

“Hey, um…when we’re done with our assignments, wanna get a burger? Or maybe a movie? The new Transformers is out.”

Tom almost rolled his eyes, but stopped himself last second. How romantic, a movie about robotic alien life forms that save the earth _yet again_ , the plotline full of improbable holes and wildly inaccurate scientific claims.

“Sure,” he said, rubbing at a spot on his right hip that would definitely be bruised in the morning. The bite mark smarted, and he rolled his shoulder, hoping it lasted. “Text me.”

Chris smiled. “I’ll come by.” And then he was gone, rushing out in a hurry, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Tom dragged the chair back to his desk and sat down, careful with his sore bottom, still feeling the warm cum in his ass. He smiled and picked up his pencil, straightening his notes, continuing where he left off.

He loved it when Chris had away games. He loved it when, with urgent kisses and arms wrapped around him, full and warm and affectionate, Chris would fall into his bed to sleep, to kiss, returned to him once more.

He knew that after their burger or movie or whatever, Chris would find his way to his room again, crawling under the covers, arms opening to hold Tom to his chest. It was their favorite way to sleep, Chris's mouth at the crown of his curls, Tom's breaths at the hollow of his throat. He thought that, perhaps, he might not mind so much having a roommate again, if he could choose. Either way, the other bed would no doubt continue to remain empty.

**Author's Note:**

> I may write a sequel. Depends on how my current series are going. Stray Not From Me and Half Moons and a Peach Tree will be updated soon! :)
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3


End file.
